Turn 68

    "And I try so hard to be likeable," ibn Fadil says sadly, snatching up his sword from the crate behind him and aiming a vicious slash at Yerik. Even as he does so, he feels the change as the ship suddenly begins to pull away from the _Magnus_. Perhaps we will get out of this after all, he thinks with some surprise, although Yerik ducks aside with surprising agility for something his size and returns the thrust, connecting lightly. He, too, can feel the ship moving, and there is no disguising the expression of alarm that crosses his broad, tattooed face.
    Hiro drops his arms into a low sweeping stance. His nostrils flare, his mouth and eyes open wide, an almost animalistic display of rage seemingly boiling across his face. Howling orangutan's terrible technique is a form his shipmates have yet to see the Saint of Steel use and some are as surprised as the marauding man-hippo. In the moment the giff is thrown by the oddness of it Hiro quickly raises the sword and strikes the creature dead in one blow.
    Val wipes flour from his face to clear his vision attempts to plunge his shortsword into the invader, but misses, taking a wound of his own.
    Emmett steps into the cargo door, rapping the hilt of his cutlass on the wall. "Gentlemen! That dropping sensation in your stomach is the acceleration as we pull away from your ship. It's also a reminder from your guts that you've lost. You're outnumbered, cut off, and unless you surrender, soon to be dead."
    "If you do surrender, we'll drop you off with a big enough air envelope to be picked up by yor ship as it lumbers after us. If you don't, well, at the top of the stairs is a Hextorian priest who we like to keep away from fights, so his image in neutral ports stays intact. I really don't want to have him come down here, because blood is a bitch to clean off of the hold's ceiling." He glances at the giff. "Take a minute to think about it. After all, you're not going anywhere."
    They are clearly thinking about it. One of their number is dead, another badly wounded, but the defenders have taken damage as well. They are keenly aware of being outnumbered.
    "The odds do seem to be in your favor," the nearest giff admits grudgingly.
    Ibn Fadil tries to help their thought processes along by pulling another knife (in addition to the sword still in his right hand) and looking at each of them as a potential target for it.
    "If you'll sheath your weapons, Ibn Fadil will grab you a long spar and a length of netting. That, combined with your own mass, will give you a large enough envelope to survive till pickup. You leave now, we let this end peacibly." Emmett glances down at the corpse of the dead giff. "Better to see another battle, I'd think."
    "I'm sure we shall," the spokesgiff agrees grimly.
    Emmett has stepped into the hold at this point, his back to the wall, leaving a clear path for the giff to get out. "At this rate we'll be at the gate soon, and your odds in the phlogiston are much worse. If you're going to leave, sheath your weapons now."
    They do so.
    A few minutes later, the raft of giff has dwindled to invisibility in the distance behind the damselfly as the _Distraction_ races along the shell toward the glimmer of the portal and the relative safety of the Flow. There is no time yet to rest or tend properly to wounds, though Val and Pham conduct the vital check to make sure all open flames are extinguished before their passage, leaving ibn Fadil to fuss over Nyala. Yestin keeps watch astern, somewhat disappointed that he did not get an opportunity to battle any of his former shipmates directly.
    The pearly light of the phlogiston surrounds them; the Flow catches the ship's sails and bears them away from Bral's sphere, toward new adventures.

* * *

    Gustan merely grunts when the leader of the boarding party finishes giving his report. After givingn orders for their return to Bralspace, he retires to his cabin to brood. _I'm going to snap that Farley's neck. A few more details might have helped. Hextorians again, too._ As she lurked and preyed about the space near Bral, the _Magnus_ had heard rumors; though the flow of news was necessarily uneven, it is clear to him that things are moving across the spheres.
    

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